


Dusty Trinkets

by morganfir



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Castle, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Romance, True Love's Kiss, the savior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganfir/pseuds/morganfir
Summary: Spoilers for 6.01. When Rumplestiltskin enters Belle's dream, it requires showing his fearful maid his most precious possessions to help her remember the love they once shared.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maplesyrup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/gifts), [TheStraggletag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/gifts).



> For Maplesyrup, I can still feel your rage through my screen, and Mama Straggle for hooking a girl up. I wrote this at like 3am, so...yeah.

Nothing ever seemed to get done. She spent every waking moment of her life dusting, polishing, sweeping, washing, scrubbing, and hauling heavy trays from one side of the Dark Castle to another. Her back ached from bending over copper pots, her knees felt weak from running up the endless stairs, her hands were covered in blisters from scrubbing silver spotless, and her feet were sore from never having a single moment of rest.

From dusk to dawn she toiled to please her master, but he still snapped curses and threats like she was a disobedient dog.

Exhausted and slightly dizzy from hunger, Belle perched herself on a staircase. She stared around her prison and feared this would be her life, even when she was a crone with a hunchback and with a face full of wrinkles, still serving her master. She found no peace in the black walls, blazing braziers, and gloomy furniture.

She yelped when she heard the heavy boom of the front door opening. Belle almost cried when she saw Rumplestiltskin walk in, shooting her an odd look as he found her idle instead of working. Belle swore he was finally going to make good on his promise to turn her into a toad!

“Master!” Belle shouted, somewhat breathless. She placed her hand on her quivering stomach, hoping she could soothe her fears by her touch. “I was just taking a break, it was only for a minute, I swear!”

He furiously blinked and a look of shock overcame his usually nasty disposition. Belle swore she felt an onslaught of his rage brewing under his unperturbed appearance. It was always calm before a storm.

“Tea!” Belle insisted, hoping to distract him from shouting at her again. Just as she took her first step, she felt her knees give out and she went tumbling forward. Her stomach lurched and she tensed, preparing herself for the painful impact, but it never came. Instead, she felt a pair of hand cradling her and caught the comforting scent of sandalwood and aged parchment.

She gulped and finally dared to open her eyes. Her master was staring down at her, his tawny eyes darting over her face with concern. For a moment she thought this was one of her silly dreams where they were friends, baiting off loneliness with tea and books, rather than the staunch roles of master and servant. 

“I’m sorry!” She blurted out, horrified when she realized that he had caught her.

“Belle,” he croaked, looking as if she had stabbed a knife into his gut. “There’s no need for you to be sorry.”

“It’s my fault!” She exclaimed, almost on the verge of tears when she remembered that she still didn’t fetch the straw for his spinning wheel. Belle pulled himself from his grasp, trying not to confuse his tender touch with anything but pity. She was a pathetic maid, she knew that, but she was _trying_.

“I’ll grab some tea,” she said, rising from the staircase, but as soon as she pulled her spine straight the room went black.

When she roused, it felt as if she had been asleep for days, but knew it was only minutes. Time in the Dark Castle always worked at a snail's pace. A panic seized her chest when she didn’t feel the lumpy straw mattress or her threadbare blankets made from itchy wool of her bed. Instead she felt soft, cotton sheets over her sore feet and downy pillows under her aching head. She knew these sheets well. She'd scrub them in hot water, blue them white, burn herself with the scolding iron to press them as crisp as paper, and did it all again the next week without complaint. She shot up from the bed, terrified that she disobediently wandered into her master’s bedroom!

“Belle.”

Her eyes snapped up to her master leaning against the bedpost, his fingers drumming against the wood. He looked worried, almost full of torment as he watched her weak body rise from his bed. She thought her eyes deceived her. Her master was worried about her?

“I’m so sorry,” Belle insisted, placing a calming hand on her brow.

“Have you eaten at all?” He inquired before he slipped from the post and approached her bedside.

Without thinking, Belle flinched and slipped further up the bed. Her master paused, keeping his hand still, and winced as if he was in physical pain.

“Of course not,” she swore, hoping he’d be pleased with her. “I’ve been so busy with the chores,” she explained, but froze when she thought he might think she was complaining. “And I’m so grateful for them,” she quickly added.

He gulped before he looked away, as if he couldn’t stand to look at her. Belle pressed her lips together, hoping she wouldn’t cry in front of him. He hated when she cried, and all she wanted to do was make him happy.

“I’m a pathetic maid, I know,” she said, feeling ashamed of herself. “I’ll be better, I promise. I'll work faster and harder, you’ll see.”

Belle was on the verge of tears when her master reached out to place a hand on her forearm. She jolted from his touch, expecting that he might finally do as he promised and drag her to rot in the dungeons, but instead he slowly rubbed his thumb in the direction of her arm hair. His touch was tender, stroking her as if she was one of his favorite baubles in his endless collection of things.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. 

Belle’s breath hitched when she saw him staring into her eyes with kindness and…love? She lowered her eyes and removed her arm from his touch. This was a cruel joke, she decided. He would bait her with things she couldn’t have anymore, than take them away to laugh at her foolishness. 

“I should get back to work,” she said as slipped out of bed, placing her healed feet on the warm floor. Strangely, it wasn’t just her feet, but her whole body felt restored to perfect health.

“Belle, you are free.”

“Free?” Belle questioned, narrowing her eyes in concern. “Then who will take care of you?”

She sounded so small and weak, nothing like the woman she used to be. The castle had broken her spirit, erased her identity, and turned her into a walking shell that only cared about finding lost socks and emptying chamberpots.

Belle swallowed. “What I meant is, who will see to your treasures?”

“They’re just dusty trinkets,” he confessed, his voice unrecognizable. It was dulcet, lit by a foreign accent and an earthy tone that made him sound almost human. He didn’t sound like her master anymore, and she was conflicted if she liked it or not.

If he didn’t care for his things, why did he make her spend hours dusting and polishing them? She washed the blood off his aprons, knowing full well the price men paid for attempting to steal his belongings. 

“My most precious things live here,” he told her, as he placed his hand above his heart. “I’d very much like to show them to you.” 

Her master held out his hand for her to take. She glanced down, noticing how his palm was lighter than the rest of his scaled, green flesh.

There was a flicker of bravery that sparked in her heart. It had been so long, hiding in the shadows and fleeing from rooms, that she forgot what strength felt like. Without a tremble, Belle slid her hand into his. He held her palm tight, but not too tight that it was uncomfortable. It was like he was afraid she might slip from his grasp, never to be reached again. 

He escorted her from his bedchambers and led her to a room only a few door down. When he pushed it open, she saw a small chamber with a bed befitting a child than an adult. The room was filled with toys, but his eyes were drawn to a little, brown ball that was worn and tattered. 

Belle watched as his face lit up with unabashed joy, as if he hadn’t seen it in decades, and slipped his hand from hers to pluck it from the ground.

“A ball?” Belle asked, confused. She examined it with curious eyes, wondering if he saw something she could not.

“This is not just any ball,” he said, holding it up in his hands. “This is Baelfire’s ball.”

Belle felt a chill run up her spine at the odd name. It felt so familiar, yet so distant. 

He spun the ball in his hands and glanced at it as if it was made out of gold. The master she knew would have kicked it with his muddy boot, split it seams, and sent it flying to the ends of the earth just so he wouldn’t have to endure such an eyesore.

“My son,” he shared with proud smile, as parents often did when they spoke of their children. “When I became the Dark One, I told him he could’ve had anything he ever wanted for his nameday, and yet all he wanted was a simple ball.” 

Because the ball meant so much more than a chest full of treasure or magical potions. It was a gift, cherished between father and son, and could spark a whole set of memories just by a few playful kicks around a grassy knoll.

“He sounds very wise,” Belle noted.

Rumplestiltskin’s smile dropped and the light in his eyes dimmed. “He was.” 

“I’m sorry,” she immediately blurted out, not realizing that he had done what no parent should do—bury their child.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t magic away the ball, throw it across the room, or thoughtlessly drop it. Instead he knelt down, placing the ball on the ground with the upmost care, as if it was made from glass.

“Come,” he said, his voice wavering as if he was about to cry.

Belle was sure that it was just something caught in his throat. Her master only had two moods, mad and madder. Yet, she still didn’t mind that he fished for her hand to hold and guided her through the Dark Castle. He brought her to a pair of doors, and with a snap of his fingers, they both creaked open to reveal a massive library. 

Belle’s heart leapt when she saw the beautiful rainbow of spines and smelled the wonderful aroma of aged leather and parchment. She used to like books, didn’t she? Yes! She liked books, especially the ones with wrecked cover. It meant it had a story so compelling that it was shared, reread, and carried everywhere. To Belle, love was a worn book.

Rumplestiltskin led her to the middle of the room, lined by tall bookcases that stretched towards the vaulted ceiling. 

“This is one of your precious things?” Belle whispered in awe as she spun around, growing lightheaded, and felt like a pirouetting figurine in a music box.

“It is, because it’s yours,” he told her.

Belle stopped, tearing her eyes away from the paradise of the written word to catch a glimpse of her master’s rare sincerity.

“The things that are precious to you,” he stopped, putting his trembling hand over the place where his heart would be, “are precious to me.” 

When she examined his face, she couldn’t find a trace of the old, callous monster that sparked her endless days of constant fright. Instead, she saw shelves overflowing with books, a closet full of three-piece suits, a horde of dusty antiques, and a single chipped cup. 

Something was terribly wrong. She felt a strange magic in every corner of the Dark Castle, and immediately knew that she was under some type of cruel spell. Belle faltered, taking a step back, desperate to place a vast distance between herself and this man that wasn’t her master. 

“You aren’t him,” she muttered in disbelief.

“I’m not the man you believe I am,” he told her, sounding so human it was almost eerie. 

“Then who are you?” Belle demanded.

The master before her would scold her for using such a disrespectful tone, yet this man, this stranger didn’t even mind.

“I’m the man you always knew I could be,” he insisted, as his eyes filled with despair. “I’m your husband.”

“You are not my husband,” she gravelly contended, pointing an accusing finger at the imp. “This is a trick! You’re being cruel for sport, like you always are.”

Her master looked as if she had tore his heart with her bare hands and crushed it with a sledgehammer.

“No, Belle,” he groaned, “I swear, I speak the truth.”

He reached out to her, but she pulled back, refusing to be touched by this malicious phantom. He was showing her all the things she longed to see, only to shatter her hopes by returning her to the dreary days of being just another one of her master’s trinkets. 

“Belle, there is one last thing I must show you.”

“No, please, I don’t want to see it,” she cried, hugging herself tight as she watched the room change. The bleak curtains plummeted from the windows, the black paint slink away into the shadows, and the fiery braziers morphed into sparkling candelabras.

If she went with him, she wasn’t sure what she’d find. She wasn’t sure if Rumplestiltskin would be there to catch her when she fell, like he did when she tried to free the curtains from the nails.

“Belle, I’d very much like to share it with you.”

Not show, but share. Belle was sure she never heard her master utter that word, or even if he knew its meaning. Against her better judgment, she acquiesced with a timid nod. 

With a wave of his hand, he conjured a doorway. It was different from all the others in the castle. Instead of door made out of planked wood with heavy iron hinges, it was whitewashed and had a simple, polished brass doorknob. Rumplestiltskin bent forward, as if he lost his magic altogether, and turned the knob until she heard the tumblers click. Belle pressed her hands to her queasy stomach when she saw what laid on the other side.

It was unlike any room in the Dark Castle, with its cheery coat of blue paint and empty spaces flooded with light and love. As she stepped over the threshold, she felt herself transported somewhere far and away. The room was bare except for a crib nestled in the corner, which had a beautiful knitted afghan draped over the railing.

Belle reached out and drew the blanket into her hands. When she palmed the soft, blue cotton, she immediately knew the hand that crafted it. 

“My most precious possession is our family.” 

Cradling the baby blanket close to her chest, she whirled around at the unfamiliar sound of a loving voice. She saw a tired man with gentle features, filled with so much longing that she let out a pained cry. This was a man basked in the glow of lightness, yet held on bitterly to the darkness to save his family. She saw all the lives in him, not from the curse, but from the hundreds of years he bitterly fought for his own happy ending. He was the lost boy, the poor spinner, the coward, the pauper, the Dark One, the town monster, the hero, and the villain. He was a father, a grandfather, and her husband. 

Someone she knew he always could be. 

“Rumple!” She cried, grasping the baby blanket as if it was the buoy that kept her from sinking deep into an ocean of despair. He was here, in her cursed slumber, rescuing her from her twisted nightmare. 

“Belle,” he croaked as he crossed the distance to hold her in his arms. She melted into his strong embrace, feeling safe and loved.

“It felt like I was there forever,” she confessed with a sob.

A bitter taste filled her mouth, remembering how horrified Rumplestiltskin looked when he witnessed the endless terror she bore in her heart. It was nothing like the lovely memories she held of their early days of courtship, when they shared timid smiles and gushed about their favorite books.

“That’s not how I remember our time in the Dark Castle, Rumple, I promise,” she asserted, distraught that he might think otherwise.

“I know,” he said, without any resentment she thought he might hold against her awful dream. He rested his cheek on the crown of her head and rocked her back and forth, soothing her nerves and banishing her lingering fears.

“You’re running out of time."

Belle yanked herself from her husband’s embrace and saw a stranger, a youngish man with striking features, magically appear beside them. For a moment, the stranger looked pained when he spotted the baby blanket in her hands, but replaced it with a look of indifference when he turned towards Rumplestiltskin.

“Remember our deal,” he chided.

“Rumple?” Belle asked, her confused eyes darting between the youngish man and her husband. “What deal?” 

“I had to seek out Morpheus to enter your dream,” Rumplestiltskin quickly explained, appearing irritated at his interruption. “There were certain stipulations.”

Morpheus raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Hello.”

Belle saw something a little too familiar in his gesture, but ignored that instinctive pull in her gut.

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin urged, grabbing her attention. “Do you still love me?”

Belle’s jaw dropped, stunned that he even had to ask such a question.

Loosing faith, he reached out to cover her hands with his. Belle lowered her chin to her chest and watched his thumbs gently caressed the backside of her palms.

“You are my most precious jewel, Belle,” he professed with so much earnest that she was certain that love was an unwavering pillar inside of his heart. “You shine brighter than any star in the sky, and you’re worth more than all the gold I’ve ever spun, or will ever spin.”

His words spark a flood of memories that she always kept close to her heart. A tickle on the nose when she slept, a quick peck on her cheek before he went to work, and a hand on her growing stomach as she slept. In the end, she didn’t need him to say his wedding vows, because he said them everyday with his boundless love.

“You’re my hope,” he confessed, growing tearful as he saw that they were both holding their future child’s blanket. “A hope at a happy ending.”

For the first time, Belle decided to follow in Rumplestiltskin’s footsteps and prove her wedding vows with loving deeds, instead of with tepid words. She leaned in and captured his soft lips with her. As she felt his adoring touch once more, Belle finally opened her heart to welcome the lives he had lived, and was yet to live. A sublime warmness blossomed deep in her chest as she felt the enchanting embrace of the most powerful magic of them all—love. 

She was true love’s kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> It's unbeta'd so expect some mistakes.
> 
> I wrote this because I'm rather unhappy how quickly Belle was woken up, and I think they need more than just a ballroom dance. It was pretty and all, but I need more substance than that. I would have liked to see Belle running through the castle finding old bits of herself with Rumple and questioning reality. 
> 
> If Morpheus isn't 100% in character, it's because I have no idea what he's motivations are (if he's even the rumbelle baby) so he's kinda one-dimensional for me at this moment. 
> 
> find me at <http://morganfir.tumblr.com/>


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